


Boys' Night In

by Robespierre



Category: L.A. Noire
Genre: Blow Jobs, Multi, Rimming, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-18
Updated: 2012-05-18
Packaged: 2017-11-05 13:40:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robespierre/pseuds/Robespierre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leary catches Phelps and Bekowsky fooling around in the back of a squad car and promises not to tell anyone - for a price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boys' Night In

Stefan Bekowsky is having second thoughts. _How the hell did I get here_? he wonders as he follows Cole Phelps down the second-floor hallway of Central Police Headquarters. Phelps turns, takes Bekowsky’s hand in his, and squeezes. Phelps’ normal smile is replaced with a knowing smirk and Bekowsky suddenly realizes why he’s here and willing to go through with this: Cole wants him to be.

-One week earlier-

Phelps and Bekowsky had just returned to the station from the site of yet another shootout that had been the culminating event of a case that had initially seemed easy to solve. It was time to go home, but both men were too keyed-up with adrenaline to relish the thought of driving home just to go to sleep. That’s how they had ended up in the backseat of their patrol car, giggling and as naked as the day they were born. 

There was something so infectious about Bekowsky’s laugh. Phelps had spent the last few weeks systematically searching Bekowsky’s body for his most ticklish thoughts. And Bekowsky, who Phelps knew didn’t even like being tickled, put up with it. Phelps was never sure why. 

Bekowsky’s gasps for breath between laughs were slowly driving Phelps crazy. Loathe as he was to remove his hands from Bekowsky’s beautifully muscled body, Phelps was so hard that it was becoming painful. He stuck two of his fingers in Bekowsky’s mouth, closing his eyes and moaning at the slick suction, and then reached down to prepare his partner. 

Suddenly, the beam of a flashlight cut across the car’s interior and landed on Bekowsky’s forehead. Both men flattened themselves against the seat, praying that they had not been seen. 

“Phelps? Bekowsky”? _Goddamnit! It’s Leary!_ “What the hell?”

“Leary? Is that you?” called Phelps.

“What the fuck are the two of you doing? I don’t…I just…”

Then silence. After about thirty seconds, Phelps cautiously raised his head to find that Leary had disappeared. 

“Fuck, Cole, what are we going to do?” demanded Bekowsky. 

“I don’t know. Get dressed and let me think about it.”

Phelps had decided that the only thing to do was to confront Leary, embarrassing as it may have been. Bekowsky thought that the two minutes it took to walk to Leary’s office were the two worst minutes of his life. But boy was he wrong. 

The minutes spent sitting across the desk from Leary, everybody blushing and just staring at the floor, were the worst minutes of his life. Every time one of them shifted his position, cleared his throat awkwardly, or swallowed audibly, Bekowsky was fully reminded of the precariousness of the situation. Would everyone find out? Were they going to lose their jobs?

Finally, Phelps broke the silence. “So, Leary, where do we go from here? What’s going to happen?”

Phelps dared to glance up at his captain’s tomato-colored face. The man was staring at his desk blotter as though his life defended on it. Leary cleared his throat for about the tenth time and mumbled, “This is bad, gentlemen. If anyone hears about this, you could be fired. Nobody would ever hire you again.”

Bekowsky felt like crying but focused on one word: if. Leary had said they’d lose their jobs if anybody found out. And although Phelps always took the lead when questioning suspects, Bekowsky couldn’t help but blurt out, “What do you mean, _if_ anybody hears about this?”

Leary’s blush darkened even further than Bekowsky thought humanly possible. Leary was silent for a long moment. The detectives glanced at each other, not sure what they were going to hear next.

“I won’t tell anyone if…if…,” Leary choked out. The rest of his sentence was blurted out in such a low and fast mumble that neither man could understand him. 

“If what, Leary?” Phelps pushed. 

“If next time I…I can watch.”

Bekowsky’s jaw dropped. Leary finally looked up and caught Bekowsky’s eyes, then turned to look at Phelps. Phelps grabbed Bekowsky’s hand and asked him, “Well, what do you think?” 

This was not a position Bekowsky wanted to be in. Of the two of them, Phelps was the decision-maker. Bekowsky would rather be a follower. But being a detective meant everything in Bekowsky. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have been so carried away as to compromise himself at work? If there was a way to save his job, he’d take it. But this? Could he really do this?

Phelps seemed to understand that he would have to take the lead. He posed a question: “That’s it? It’s as easy as that?”

Leary grunted affirmatively and gave a small nod. He seemed unable to say more.

“Okay then,” Phelps said brightly. “We’ll let you know when.” 

\-----

Bekowsky allows Cole to pull him down the deserted hallway. He still feels a little, no, who is he kidding, _really_ uncomfortable with the whole situation, but he trusts Cole. His Cole. Though they’ve been together for weeks now, Bekowsky still can’t get over it. This wonderful man wants to be with him. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, Bekowsky feels a flutter of excitement in his stomach at the thought of being with Cole again. It’s something he thinks he will never get enough of. Even so, he’s full of nerves at the thought of what’s about to happen.

Cole knocks on Leary’s half-opened door and strides in. “Hey, Leary. You ready for this?” 

Leary jumps from his chair to peer into the hallway, hissing, “Jesus, Phelps. Keep it down! Somebody might hear you.”

“Don’t worry,” Phelps says lightly. “I checked. There’s nobody here to interrupt us. So if it’s all right with you, let’s get started.” He smiles at Bekowsky and adds, “I’ve been waiting to touch this man all day.” 

Leary’s startled expression at Phelps’ suggestion leads Bekowsky to think that this is something his captain has never done before. Hell, none of them have done anything like this before. 

As usual, Phelps takes the lead. He drags Leary’s chair in front of the door and pushes Leary towards it until he takes the hint and sits down. With that damnable smirk on his face, he asks, “Okay. Any requests?”

Leary is blushing. Even Bekowsky is blushing. Phelps is incorrigible. Only he could be so calm and teasing in a situation like this. 

Leary looks at the floor and mumbles, “Just forget I’m here.”

Phelps grins at the captain’s red face and says, “I think we can handle that.”

Phelps pulls Bekowsky close to him. Bekowsky has one last moment of panic. “I don’t think I can do this, Cole,” he whispers, leaning his forehead against his partner’s chest. 

Phelps takes Bekowsky by the shoulders, holds him at arms’ length, and studies his face. “Stefan, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. If we were at your apartment, we’d be doing this right now, anyway. If it saves our jobs, what harm is there in letting someone watch us? I’m not ashamed of anything we do together. Are you?”

Bekowsky shakes his head and realizes that Phelps is right, as always. His fears are calmed with just a few words and now he is ready to be with the man he loves. And he is going to enjoy it. 

Phelps must understand that Bekowsky is ready because he leans in, cups Bekowsky’s chin in his hands, and kisses him on the forehead. Bekowsky smiles, then takes charge and pushes Phelps back onto Leary’s desk, shoving paperwork out of the way. Phelps grins while reaching up for Bekowsky’s tie, which he uses to pull his partner down to him.

Phelps’ hands slide under Bekowsky’s jacket and quickly slip it off his body and onto the floor. Bekowsky’s lips meet Phelps’ with such force that it temporarily stills Phelps’ hands, hands that were working on unhooking Bekowsky’s belt. Bekowsky smiles into Phelps’ mouth and slides his tongue between the other man’s dry lips. The feeling of their tongues meeting is, as always, like an electric shock. 

It is as though a switch has just been flipped inside Phelps. He pulls off his shoulder holster, sets it on the floor, and unbuttons and pulls off his vest in what seems like seconds. He throws himself back onto his Bekowsky and rips the buttons from his shirt, too excited by the idea of running his tongue over those smooth muscles to care about damaging clothing. Bekowsky helps him by loosening his tie and slipping it off over his head. He runs his hands over Phelps’ back then slides his hands into the back of his partner’s pants to free his shirt. 

Phelps’ tongue and teeth glide over Bekowsky’s chest, stopping occasionally to suck on patches of skin near his stomach. Bekowsky moans, half in desire and half in frustration because Phelps’ shirt is still on. He wants to feel Cole’s chest against his. He _needs_ it. He grinds himself against Phelps, making small frustrated sounds. 

Phelps stops, head resting on Bekowsky’s stomach, and looks up at him. He must see the need in Bekowsky’s eyes, because he stands up, slips off his shirt and tie, and undoes his belt buckle, then kneels in front of him. 

Bekowsky groans as he watches Phelps quickly slip open the clasp on his belt and the button and zipper of his pants. Phelps’ stares into his partner’s dark brown eyes as he reaches for the waistband of his pants and slowly starts to pull them down. Bekowsky knows he should help a little by lifting his ass up from the desk, but he is transfixed by the look in Cole’s eyes. There’s love there, of course, but there is also a promise of heat that Bekowsky finds irresistible. 

Phelps pulls off his partner’s shoes, socks, and pants then pauses to divest himself of his own. The men face each other in only their shorts. Bekowsky grabs the back of Phelps’ head and pulls him down for another round of scorching kisses, all the while grinding himself against Phelps’ leg. His hands trace circles on Phelps’ back and slide down to the rounded muscles of his ass and legs. 

Phelps’ hands glide down Bekowsky’s ribs, pausing for a moment to play with a particularly ticklish spot. Bekowsky reacts violently, laughing so hard he almost throws Phelps off the desk. Phelps kisses him gently around those giggles and slides a hand into the waistband of Bekowsky’s shorts. 

Bekowsky’s laughter dies and he freezes as Phelps wraps his hand around his swollen length and squeezes. His head rolls back on the desk and he can’t help but let out an embarrassingly loud moan. Phelps slides down the length of Bekowsky’s body to kneel again, this time sucking at Bekowsky’s cock through the thin material of his shorts. 

Bekowsky has had enough. He needs to feel Cole, his Cole, pressed against him. All of him. With a force that surprises both of them, Bekowsky pushes Phelps off of him and onto the floor. He removes his own shorts as quickly as possible before kneeling to practically rip Phelps’ from his body. He throws himself on top of Phelps, close to screaming with want as he feels the scorching heat of his partner’s cock against his.

Bekowsky closes his eyes and gives into the sensations as he and Phelps rub against each other, sliding trails of pre-cum along each other’s stomachs. He sucks and bites at Phelps’ neck and is rewarded with a drawn-out moan. He crawls up Phelps’s body in a sort of modified push-up position until his cock is pointing directly at the other man’s mouth. Phelps takes the hint and raises his head to eagerly slide most of Bekowsky’s length into his mouth. 

“Oh, God,” Leary whispers. The two men freeze. Both had almost forgotten about Leary and how they must look at that moment. Naked on the captain’s floor with his ass in the air; Bekowsky knows it is far from dignified but doesn’t really care. He needs Cole too much to stop now. Unfortunately, Phelps pulls Bekowsky’s body toward him until their faces are next to each other. 

“Stefan, I have an idea,” Phelps whispers in his ear. “Let’s give him a real show. Are you ready for me?”

Bekowsky nods, ready to do damn near anything to be with Phelps.

“Okay. Get on your hands and knees right in front of him. That way he can see all those sexy faces you make as I pound into you.” 

Any other man might make that sound degrading, but Cole knows his partner too well. He knows it is exactly the right thing to say to push Bekowsky over the edge. Now he’s too consumed by lust to argue.

“Please, Cole!” he whispers urgently. 

Phelps slaps and then gently caresses Bekowsky’s ass and motions toward Leary. Bekowsky lifts himself off of Phelps, turns, and crawls on his hands and knees toward their captain. Leary’s eyes widen in shock as Bekowsky stops a few feet in front of him. 

Bekowsky looks, really looks, at his captain. The flush on Leary’s face extends all the way to his hairline. His hair is disheveled, falling softly onto his face. His hands grip the arms of the chair so tightly that his fingers are white. 

Bekowsky says nothing but, feeling very unlike himself, meets Leary’s eyes and licks his lips. Leary swallows but can’t seem to take his eyes off of Bekowsky. He lowers his gaze until he is staring directly at Bekowsky’s thick, swollen cock. 

Bekowsky feels Phelps moving behind him. He prepares himself for a slick finger, but gasps and nearly loses himself when he feels Cole’s hot, wet tongue licking a line between his cheeks down to his entrance. Leary whimpers softly as he hears Phelps let out little sighs while circling the silky skin with his tongue. Bekowsky closes his eyes and moves his hips slightly, urging Cole on. 

With no warning, Phelps’ tongue is inside him. They’ve never done this before and Bekowsky almost spends himself just from the sensation. The moan he lets out sounds deafeningly loud in the emptiness of the building. Phelps groans against Bekowsky and Bekowsky know Cole can’t wait any longer, either. He hears Cole spit into his hand and hurriedly wet himself while rising to his knees behind Bekowsky. 

They’ve done almost no preparation, but Bekowsky feels like he’ll die if he has to wait another second. Phelps pushes slowly into him and Bekowsky welcomes the initial sting and burn because he is finally getting what he wants. He _needs_ Cole and pushes back against him, impatient to have Cole fully seated inside of him. 

Leary whimpers again and shifts awkwardly in his chair. Bekowsky opens his eyes and can’t help but see the bulge straining the seams of Leary’s pants. He has a second to wonder why Leary isn’t touching himself but is quickly distracted by Cole’s hands gripping his sides. 

Cole’s moans as he struggles to fit all of himself into the hot tightness of his partner let Bekowsky know that Cole won’t last long. And that’s just fine with him, because he won’t either. Something about tonight has taken all of his self-control from him. The illicitness of their situation, Cole’s irreverent attitude, and now the knowledge that what the two of them are doing is affecting Leary so strongly – everything combines to make this an experience like nothing he could have ever imagined.

Bekowsky has a second to revel in the feeling of fullness before Cole starts to move. Cole draws himself almost all the way out before slamming back into his partner. Bekowsky squeals, so far gone that he doesn’t even care about what he sounds like now. He pushes back against Cole, feeling himself slipping closer and closer to the edge. 

Phelps’ hand snakes around Bekowsky’s hip to grab and stroke his length. Bekowsky bats it away, wanting to make this last as long as possible. Cole makes a small questioning noise but complies. His thrusts start to pick up speed and the only sounds in the room are the slapping of flesh into flesh and the harsh breathing of the three men. 

Bekowsky has never been this aroused in his life. He concentrates on the feeling of Cole sliding in and out of him and gripping his hips so hard that he knows there are going to be bruises there tomorrow. He’s so close, but he wants this to last. He looks up at Leary and isn’t prepared for what he sees. 

Leary’s eyes are locked on Bekowsky’s face and he is squeezing himself through the rough fabric of his pants. There’s such hunger in his eyes that he looks almost predatory. Bekowsky can’t reconcile this look with his laid-back, imperturbable boss. Something in that stare, something about this night, makes Bekowsky act without thinking. He braces himself on his left arm and reaches his right hand out to Leary, covering Leary’s hand. Again not stopping to think, he surprises everyone in the room by softly saying, “Let me help.”

Phelps stops mid-thrust, waiting to see what’s going to happen. Leary’s eyes drill into Bekowsky’s as he pauses then quickly adjusts his pants and shorts so that he exposes his cock to the other man. Expecting Bekowsky to touch him, he is completely surprised when Bekowsky, using all of the strength in his right arm, pulls the chair toward him until his mouth is just inches away from Leary’s beautifully long and slender cock. 

Phelps, amazed at what he is seeing, resumes thrusting slowly just as Bekowsky’s lips close over the tip of Leary. Bekowsky applies just a bit of gentle suction and Leary practically jumps out of his chair, thrusting into the hot, wet embrace of his mouth. Sliding his mouth further down Leary’s rock-hard length, Bekowsky groans as he realizes what he must look like: caught between the passions of two men, both sliding in and out of him. 

Phelps begins to thrust in earnest, making sounds that Bekowsky knows signal he is close. Leary’s eyes roll back in his head as a steady stream of hissed obscenities pours from his mouth.

“Stefan? I can’t last,” Phelps chokes out as his thrusts take on an almost frantic pace. Bekowsky’s lips pause in their work for a moment as he pushes back against Phelps, causing Leary to squeal, grab the back of Bekowsky’s head, and thrust as fast as he can.

Bekowsky wonders for a moment whether he is going to come without being touched at all. The moans and groans coming from the other men have him worked up to an impossible state of arousal. 

It seems like everything happens at once. Leary gasps and falters in his thrusting. Once again, Bekowsky does something he’s never done before: when Leary’s release pours into his mouth, he swallows it all. 

Phelps’s left hand slides from Bekowsky’s hip down to stroke him just seconds before Phelps cries out, slams into Bekowsky, and goes still. It takes only two quick strokes for Bekowsky to see stars as his body freezes in the most earth-shattering orgasm he’s ever had. 

No one moves for a few moments, then Leary slides out of his mouth and Phelps lifts Bekowsky until he can hold his partner against his chest. Phelps runs his hands over Bekowsky’s chest and rests his mouth in the hollow between Bekowsky’s shoulder and neck, occasionally placing soft kisses on his skin. 

The only sound in the room is the ragged breathing of the three men. Bekowsky’s mind is reeling at the thought of what’s just happened. He wants nothing more than to collapse in a boneless heap on the carpet. No, he wants to get dressed and go home to bed with Cole without having to face Leary. How are they going to be able to work together from now on?

Phelps draws his slowly softening cock out of Bekowsky and stands. Wincing, he gestures toward the scraped skin on his knees. Bekowsky can feel the burn on his own knees caused by friction against the hardwood floor. 

Leary looks at his two detectives, his mouth hanging open. Bekowsky feels his face turning red in embarrassment and has no idea what to do or say next. It’s Cole, always Cole, who swoops in to save the day. He points at his knees, winks at Leary, and says, “So, how about commendations for us? Bekowsky and Phelps, injured while providing service to the city?”

Leary grins and fires back with, “Listen, Phelps, I don’t care about you. But Bekowsky deserves a medal.”

Bekowsky moves to pull his shorts and pants out of the jumble of clothing on the floor. He busies himself with getting dressed and is bent over searching for his belt when he feels a fully clothed Leary behind him. He wraps his arms around Bekowsky’s waist and breathes a quick, “Thank you,” into his ear. 

“Hey, hey – that’s my man you’re after, Leary,” teases Phelps. “So what do you think? Next week? Same time, same place?”

Bekowsky gasps in surprise and feels all of Leary’s muscles tense behind him. “What do you think, Bekowsky?” 

And for the final time that night, Bekowsky does something that completely surprises himself. He smiles to himself and replies, “Definitely.”


End file.
